The Spanish Lord High Admiral—the Duke of Medina Sidonia—received his orders directly from Philip. He was to fight no battle, but was to haste with all speed to the North Foreland and there communicate with the Duke of Parma, who was in the Netherlands with thirty thousand men waiting to cross. The army would be landed, and England would be at his feet! So much for instructions. On May 14, 1588, the Armada dropped down the Tagus, and as the galleons came out the blustering north wind met them, and day by day they drifted to leeward until they were off Cape St. Vincent. The wind changed at last, and the ships steered northward again, their crews in a terrible state owing to the stinking water and the putrid pork, fish, and bread which fraudulent contractors had foisted on them. The ships were obliged to put into Corunna, with crews too weak to man the yards, and ready to desert in shoals. At last the Armada got under way again, and the old seaman who burst in upon the admirals and captains on the Pelican bowling-green told a true tale: the Armada was coming without a doubt. Badly, indeed, was the English fleet prepared to meet them. Elizabeth’s niggardly soul would not permit her to provide sufficient stores and provisions for the fleet. The English sailors were ill-clothed and ill-provided in every way, but they did not complain. They tightened their belts and prayed for the speedy coming of the enemy. Their prayer was soon to be answered. The Armada was now in the Channel, sailing crescent-wise. As it passed by, out went the Plymouth fleet, hanging on to its rear like grim death. The English guns were far more powerful than those of the Spaniards, and they poured in broadsides at a safe distance with deadly effect. Further, they could fire five shots to the Dons’ one. Every broadside told, and the effect of the shot and splinters on the overcrowded Spanish ships was terrible. So the Armada pursued its way, and Howard “plucked out its feathers one by one.” For a week the running fight was kept up. During the first few days the English were badly hampered by want of powder and provisions, but now that danger was imminent there was no lack of ammunition and stores. Off Calais the fleets faced each other, and a long day’s battle was fought. On the night of Sunday, July 28, a memorable council of war was held in the _Ark’s_ main cabin, attended by Howard, Drake, Seymour, Hawkins, Martin Frobisher, and others. The conference was short, for there was no time to lose. Eight useless vessels were immediately coated with pitch—hulls, spars, and rigging. Pitch was poured on the decks and over the sides, and men were told off to steer them. The night was dark as the grave; a faint westerly wind was curling the waters; and towards midnight the look-outs on the Spanish galleons saw several phantom-like vessels bearing down on them.